


Refuge in Sleep

by xmoomzix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grieving John, Heartbroken John, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV John Watson, Pining John, Plot Twists, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmoomzix/pseuds/xmoomzix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At the end of the day it's about how much you can bear, how much you can endure. Being together, we harm nobody; being apart, we extinguish ourselves." - Tabitha Suzuma </p>
<p>John wakes up post-reichenbach, wakes up to what seems like a miracle. A moment of elation, soon to be doused by reality.</p>
<p>This is not a happy story but it's a ficlet that I wrote over on my tumblr and feeling overwhelmed by the positive response, I just had to share here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refuge in Sleep

His dreams are a reel of distorted and fading images, memories of what was. Chaotic in nature, it is hard to focus on one singular moment before the next one is revealed, each one a little more distant than the last. There’s pain in his stomach and an ache in his heart. He tries to reach out and grasp those stolen moments but his hand simply moves through them. The images remain the same and they circle his head, circling faster and faster and - _Oh please make them stop. It hurts too much. Stop, please stop.._  
Then he stirs, emerging into the waking world with an erratic pulse and flutter of panic. 

But what is this?   
This warmth. 

In the darkness, a familiar shaped silhouette, curled up and so close. A sense of calm douses his nerves and he shuffles over, snaking his arm around the sleeping forms middle, drawing him to his chest just as he had so many times in the past. Nuzzling his face into the nape of his neck, the unmistakable scent of _him_ and now he finds himself blinking back the tears _**because he’s home! This is real. Living and breathing real!**_

“Sherlock..” He breathes and he doesn’t care if Sherlock wakes. He doesn’t care if he can hear the tremor in his voice. “Sherlock..” Lips press to that neck then, lingering in place. He finds he wants to drown in Sherlock at that moment and he smiles against the warm flesh, kissing him again, over and over in sweet trails. He hoists himself up, turning the other over so that he can kiss his lips and he does and it’s perfect … 

Except it’s not.   
He’s not kissing back. 

_Sherlock, why aren’t you kissing back?_

He pulls back, brows drawn together in almost childish confusion. He’s so confused..   
Then when it hits him, it hits hard, taking the very breath from his lungs. He tries to turn away before Mary sees his face crumple, swallowing the whimper that threatens to escape, and pushing away the blankets, he gets up and walks away…


End file.
